Free Tales from the Yoga Studio by Rain Mitchell

familiar with this kind of thing, being treated with envy and, at the same time, as if she were a freak. It’s easy enough to ignore, and at least the condescension toward her balances out a little of the sting Alan probably feels right now.
    â€œI’ll bet it’s good for your marriage ,” one of the others leers.
    â€œYou’re welcome to come by the studio anytime you like,” Lee says. “Try it out. Bring your husbands.”
    â€œThere’s a laugh,” one says. “I’d have as much luck trying to get him to wear a tutu!”
    Lee smiles and takes Alan’s hand. They go over to Birdy and Garth and congratulate him on the show. He puts his arms around Lee’s waist in a way that makes everyone uncomfortable.
    â€œDo you like the incumbent ardency?” he asks.
    Lee doesn’t say anything and Garth winks. “It’s all showbiz, folks. You gotta pay the bills somehow. Nothing sells like selling out!”
    Lee is relieved. This is the first time he’s given any indication that he knows how all the pretentious talk about his work sounds. It’s really the first time he’s ever been ironic about himself. “How do you like your daddy’s paintings?” she asks Birdy.
    Birdy stares at her with her limpid, ethereal gaze. “Mommy said you were getting divorced. How come you’re here together? ”
    Lee tries to smile and looks at Alan. It’s definitely time to make a move. If talking with YogaHappens brings Alan home sooner, she’s all for it. She’ll make an appointment with them tomorrow.

    I mani is driving through Beverly Hills when she decides to check out a cupcake bakery that opened last month and maybe get a couple of treats. The whole cupcake craze is annoying—and brilliant. She would never allow herself to stop at a bakery and buy a slab of chocolate cake, but a nice little bite-size treat seems way less decadent. She’s telling herself the second one she intends to buy is for Glenn, but she knows for certain she’ll have it finished before she’s anywhere near Los Feliz and home.
    The bakery (Cookie’s Cakes) is owned by Cookie, a super-skinny white girl who probably wears a surgical mask when she’s baking, just in case it turns out smells have calories. Everything in the place is white, and Cookie’s dressed in a white lab coat. It feels more like a weight-loss clinic than a place to indulge. Cookie (as likely to be her real name as Imani is hers!) has her head practically shaved, with the remaining stubble dyed platinum blond. This makes her look even skinnier but strangely feminine and girly, too.
    Imani forces herself to smile at her and orders a Banana Daiquiri and a Dulce de Leche and then, because the name sounds kind of light and semi-low-cal and the swirl of frosting on top is an appealing pale purple, something called a Lavender Breeze.
    â€œOh, that’s my favorite,” Cookie says.
    â€œReally? You eat a lot of these?”
    â€œI taste tiny slivers.” She holds up thumb and index finger to the thickness of a credit card. “I’m totally neurotic about my weight, and basically, I started baking because I like being around the temptation, and proving to myself I can resist it. I know, total eating-disorder kind of thing, but not dangerous or life-threatening.”
    This is such a brutally honest, full-disclosure mouthful, Imani immediately shifts from finding Cookie irritating to being touched by her and admiring of the way she’s efficiently packing the cupcakes into a little white box. “At a certain point,” she says, “you gotta figure a few pounds don’t matter one way or the other.”
    â€œNot there yet. But working on it.” She hands Imani the box, tied up with a silver ribbon.
    â€œIt’s brilliant the way you have the place decorated,” Imani says. “So clinical, it feels like it’s good for you to